In light of a few recent articles in various newspapers, like the one I rambled about yesterday and the one I was interviewed for the day before (There’s No harm done in being a working mum) and subsequent interviews on various radio shows, where the discussions all turned to childcare and/or who the best person/people are to care for your children, I’ve had this niggly little annoying thing going on in my brain.

It’s also coming about with the Federal election looming and discussion of paid parental leave, and paid parental care.

This term “Parental Care” when I first heard it (during a radio interview and mentioned by Tempe Harvey of Kids First) I thought “Cool!” and immediately imagined it to be some sort of set up, not dissimilar to a babysitting club or arrangement, or family day care set up, whereby parents, assumingly the stay at home mums,  are paid (by the government, taxpayers, someone, don’t know who, it wasn’t my scenario) to look after kids in the local area, while oher mums go off to work.

But my head – stupidly – always goes to community and a supportive society.

Crash! Back to the real world.

Nope. This term, in fact, refers to parents being paid to look after their own children, in their own home.

Aside from the fact that I feel this does nothing to support the choices women (mothers) make, and for mums to choose what is best for their own health and wellbeing (yes, yes, we all know children first, and having a severely depressed, psychotic mother is all well and good, so long as she exclusively breast feeds for 24 months or something </sarcasm>) which, personally, I feel is imperative to being a “good” mother, it also doesn’t recognised the fabulous contribution that mums make to the workforce, and, subsequently, society.

People in work forces do actually do stuff that helps stay at home mums, too, you know. They answer phones when you ring to sort out your health insurance, and serve you at the local supermarket and do all kinds of things.

Just, you know, simple things like helping a society to function.

(Notwithstanding, of course, those women who choose not to have children at all – they also contribute greatly to the functioning of society as a whole!)

For me, part of it is about recognising the things that everyone contributes to a funcitoning society and making all the bits work.

But there’s another bit that scares me. Terrifies me, if I’m being honest.

Effectivley this movement, and some sanctions, are arguing for being paid to care for and raise their own kids.

You all know my thoughts on it being the “hardest job in the world” along the lines of “it is not a job“.

A couple of things. If all parents were to raise their children so that they were able to contribute to and integrate into a thoughtful, compassionate and “for each other” society, I may be just a teensy bit for being paid to parent.

As it stands, some parents are blatantly against it and are raising selfish little brats with an “it’s all about me” attitude and huge beliefs in entitlement, all rights and no responsibilty. Some of those who are there for their kids all the time and think the are “doing the best job” are also creating these children who will grow up to be adults.

I’m also not sure how you would or could police such a thing. Especially not with our society’s current “I can do what I want” belief, disrespect for fellow citizens and stupidly ridiculous handing down of sentences for what amounts to murder, in some cases.

The other thing, the realy scarey bit for me, is “how much is the job worth?” I’m not sure of the current agreement, but I recall years ago that surf lifesaving was a volunteer position, for the very reason that they couldn’t put a price on the awesome things they did, and the potential for a surf lifesaver to say “Nah, not paid enough to jump in and rescue you mate. You’ll just have to drown out there. Sorry ’bout that.”

I feel the same about parenting. We are already seeing far too much of the “it’s the teachers responsibilty to teach manners/respect” or someone else’s “job” to deal with bullying or abusive kids and no one wanting to take responsibilty for the behaviour of children, or to teach them or empower them. It’s all too hard and ther’es lots of finger pointing and throwing of hands up and saying “it’s not my job!”

So, when we start to “pay” parents to raise and care for their own children, when is the pay not going to be enough? When some parents can’t/don’t/won’t teach some basic social skills as it is, what point will it get to?

“Yeah, sorry, I’m not being paid enough to deal with vomit and poo. As of today, I will no longer be changing nappies or toilet training, and if you spew, you’ll have to clean it up yourself?”

“Nurses get paid way more than I do, so you can either put that bandaid on yourself, or call and ambulance. Whatever.”

I’m still firmly of the belief that when you call “parenting” a “job” you significantly reduce the pereception of the responsibilty and emotion that is involved.

When you start putting a monetary figure on it, you cheapen what it is, what’s involved and open the gates for “is it worth it?”

I know I’m not being paid anywhere near enough for what I have to deal with some days. For me, that gives me incentive to raise children that can function, contribute to and be empathetic towards society and others living within it.

Start putting a value on it, and it becomes more about the individual than it already is. Everyone for themselves.

And that frightens me no end.

Recently, I’ve been working on my Kid Tolerance Level Skills in order to be one of those mums I thought I already was, but so very clearly wasn’t.

I have always wanted to be one of those mums who had it all together, smiled a lot and had a house full of kids.

No! Not looking after other people’s kids, because I still have a business to run and can’t do that babysitting swap thing *shudder*

Nah. I always just thought I’d be “the” house, where the mums was pretty cool and the kids could bring their friends over and it was fun, and they could play and help themselves to food because there was no way I was going to put on a spread of evenly diced fruit an home made hommus dip with organic crackers. There is, however, fruit in the fruit bowl, which can be peeled by anyone over the age of two. And you know the rule; if you can open the Tupperware and peanut butter jar, you can eat.

Thus, it was of great shock to me that I discovered I had an aversion to children being in my house. Not because I am a neat freak, with everything in it’s place. Unless you consider “everything dumped on the dining room table” as “in it’s place”. Many a friend has informed me she loves my house becuase it’s “homey” and you “don’t feel like you can’t touch anything”.

I just don’t like my mess being messed up or touched or accidentally knocked to the floor.

I do love other people’s kids coming over and distracting my kids so they leave me alone playing with my kids. I love that the cubby house actually gets used.

I don’t like the fighting and arguing.

I’m not one of those mums that lets my kids walk out of a house, leaving the Lego bucket/craft box/pack of 986 textas/train set/Barbie house contents all over the floor. We stay till it’s picked up. With the exception where the Mum of the house we’re at insists we can leave it. Crazy I tell you.

Therefore, I’m not one of those mums that is particularly impressed when kids leave my house in that sort of state. By “not particuarly impressed” I mean “extremely pissed off”.

I’m one of those mums that encourages turn taking or “I’ll turn the bloody thing off/take the bloody thing away and you can both not have it to play with”. In fact, that’s exactly how I encourage turn taking.

I’m not one of those mums that prepares afternoon tea for when the kids come home from school. Afternoon tea pertains to any remaining food-like substances remaining in the lunchbox after school. If that fails, or for some bizarre reason, said kid has actually eaten entire contents of lunchbox, please refer to abovementioned comment regaring ability to open Tupperware. This is why I have certain foodstuffs in Tupperware at child height.

Thus, I have been working on my skills in order to attain that status of being the Cool Mum where all my kids’ friends want to come to our house (and not touch any of my stuff, leave a mess or ask me repeatedly for food) and “chill” with my kids.

I’m not entirely sure how well I’m actually doing, save for the fact I’m now clear on what sort of mum I’m not.

Also, am beginning to wonder if this desire to be one of “those” mums is so that I’m not relegated to bottom of list for ”whose house do we want to got to after school today” and feeling so extremely rejected. Or if it’s because I can’t be arsed plugging toddler into his car seat to collect my children from various homes where said mum of that home is perceived as better than my by a nine year old and wasting good wine drinking time.

I went out on Saturday night.

Kid free.

With the hubby.

And a couple of friends and their hubbies.

Killing two birds with one stone; a social life and connection with friends, and some time with my hubby and no kids. Not quite a date night, but when you’re seriously lacking resources, you do what you can.

As it turns out, we did get a bit of time to ourselves, as our friends were late. It was lovely.

And it got me thinking about the highly recommended Date Night. It’s been so long since we’ve been on one that I’ve forgotten what a Date Night, post kids, is like.

I have, instead, clung to those memories of the fabulous nights we had before we had kids, when we were heading out for dinner at 8.30 at night, instread of falling alseep in front of the TV or crawling into bed so one of us was able to function enough to attend to the 2.36am wakeup we are bound to get.

I can only recall the times we ate good food at establishments that didn’t offer a Kid’s Menu or a child sized serving of fish and chips (at least, not that we knew about anyway) and would walk in the door at some ridiculous hour and have sex on the kitchen table before we’d even removed our shoes, if that is what we wanted. Or, on colder nights, just start stripping the moment we walked in the door, until we could climb under the warm doona and snuggle up together. And have sex.

Of course, with kids, we usually find at least one of them in our bed when we go to bed. Then we’re conscious of any nosies made whilst they’re still awake, the toddler waking at the most inopportune moments, and the fact we can rarely time it so we get into bed at the same time.

But the Date Night; surely that opens up some opportunities for us to reconnect, in more ways than one? Right?

*sigh*

It’s nothing like the pre-kids moments. I’m not talking about setting rules regarding talking about the kids when you’re out without them. We gave up on that rule, as its inevitable that you do.

You greet the babysitter at the door, and you hand over whatever instructions need handing over. You kiss the kids goodbye while doing your best to prevent any number of foodstuffs and/or bodily secretions being smeared somewhere on your person. You leave, slightly guilty for no apparent reason, and hugely relieved.

And just a wee bit excited about being able to relax over dinner without having to be on the lookout for glasses about to be knocked off tables and whether there are enough baby wipes in your bag to clear up that particular mess.

Your dinner is enjoyable and uninterrupted, the movie is enjoyable and relates in no way at all to kids, and the music the band is playing you haven’t heard iin soooo long, and it just makes you smile. You relax, you’re chatting and reconnecting with your partner and there’s a promise of that long lost, yet lusted after sex.

You can’t wait to get home, snuggle up and enjoy it. If you can remember how to do it.

And herein lies the difference.

Now, you get home when you know the kids will be in bed, fast asleep and you can enjoy your time together. You quietly open the door so as not to wake them, find the babysitter (friend, relative, nanny from an agency, local teenager looking for work, whoever) watching TV quietly, or maybe fiinishing off an assignment for uni.

Yes, they’d love a coffee, thanks very much for asking. And how was your night? You can then spend anywhere from ten minutes to an hour and a half, just chatting, finding out all the funny/naughty/crazy/unnacceptable things the kids did/said/flushed down the toilet in your absence, catch up on their love/school/social lives and you alternate taking it in turns wishing they’d just bloody leave/feeling guilty for wishing they’d just bloody leave after the service they just gave you, taking your uncomfortable shoes and too tight pants off and wonder if it’s ok for them to see you in your jarmies.

At some point, one of you goes and brushes your teeth while the other avoids upsetting the babysitter, until, eventually they leave, taking with them what remnants remained of your libido and the fantastic night you had out.

You’re tired, realise you’ve had far too much to drink and you’re gonna regret it in the morning. Actually, you’re regretting it now, the toddler just woke when the babysitter shut the door  a bit too hard and tooted as they drove off …

(For a Real Mums Guide To Better Relationships, including how to get a “date night” that works visit http://www.realmums.com.au/relationships.html)

One thing that I love about extraordinarily verbose children with an exceptionally large vocabulary and even greater propensity to negotiate pretty much anything, is their ability to construct compelling arguments.

My eldest started at quite a young age, approximately 2 years of age with his negotiation and compelling argument abilities. Two incidents stand out for me:

1. The time he was 3 and being a little shit and I asked him why he behaved as he did and he informed me, quite honestly, “because that’s what I do”.

2. The time he was 3 and he’d been a bloody little shit for a few days, and we’d woken at a reasonable hour and were having a nice breakfast when I enquired “are you going to be a well behaved little boy today?” and he informed me, quite honestly, “nah, I’m gonna be a bloody little shit!” Touche

This ability is phenomenally awesome when they reach the middle years in school. I’ve also noticed, thanks to the additional boy-child of age approximately 8, that most children of similar age are able to construct just as compelling arguments as “well, can you explain to me why now is not an appropriate time to watch a DVD?” (age 4) seemingly regardless of their vocabulary and language skills.

Of note, is my now 9 year old’s latest ability to put forward similarly persuasive cases, with fewer words.

One to be exact.

Although, not sure that it is technically a word.

“Urgh!”

It may be his desire not to unstack the dishwasher right at this particular moment, despite being asked five times and the threats begin, because he has yet to read (and draw all over) the comics in the day’s paper. Or, perhaps, he’d prefer to faff around naked and playing trains for a bit rather than getting dressed for school.

Regardless of the request made of him, and whether it is a positive (can you please do X?) or negative (stop that right now!) he is able to put forward the undeniably persuasive “Urgh!” as his argument.

We almost went to Werribee Zoo the other day, as a result of such discussion. Basically, we said “get dressed because we’re going into the city with some friends” and such was his notable desire to, perhaps, do something else – a la UUURRRGGHH! – that we called Werribee Zoo as we thought a deranged and demented warthog had escaped and was residing under the chair he was sitting on at the time.

They refused to come and collect him

Apparently, our agrument wasn’t compelling enough. Next time, we’ll hand the phone over to him to explain.

What I’m at a loss to understand is how and why they think this kind of argument holds any ground what-so-ever? Surely, after the first 500 of using the same line of reasoning over and over and over and not getting the result they are after (“Of course sweetheart, how silly of me to ask you to set the table. Let me do it for you while you sit there and, here, eat this bag of chips and box of chocolates while you’re there.”) they would perhaps attempt a different line?

No?

Of course, me being one that is huge on communication, I also like to add to contribute with “I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re saying.” And continue on my merry way asking them to do what they’ve just so succinctly informed me they wish not to do.

Ultimately, however, my favourite response to an agrument so thoughtfully and coherently constructed is “So, is it working for you?”

Inevitably the reply is also well constructed and coherent …

“Urghawwww!”

Was called up yesterday afternoon to appear on Today this morning to discuss yet another case of a woman being asked to leave a cafe (or restaurant) because she tried to take a pram in.

They wanted my opinion on it. Which is fine, and lovely that someone cares.

Now, before I continue, I must remind everyone that yesterday my kids caused my inner switch to flick over to Snarky Bitch Mode and get stuck there. I had to get up super early so that someone else could do my hair and makeup. Ha! Funny. That implied I do it myself at times. Pfffft!

Had to get up super early so that my hair and makeup were actually done for a change, and was bought a coffee (love the makeup chicks and floor manager at Channel 9 – they ROCK!) and miked up.

I get to then respond to the “Latest in the Mummy Wars” – and, quite frankly, I’m sick of this title. What. Is. The. Point?

What fucking war?

(Oh, shit, I swore. I did say I’d try to try not to swear.)

It’s the “breastfeeding in public” argument again, whereby most of the population are for it or don’t even realise it’s being done, and a minority with big mouths and self-righteousness making it appear to be a problem.

(Before I get accused of being a Nazi again beacuse I dare suggest respect, yes, I understand for some people it is horrible and the’ve been ridiculed and threatened. My point is, generally, it is accepted)

This is yet another attempt to cause an issue out of something that is not there. I get being asked to leave a cafe rudely is not ok. I have no issue with it being brought to the attention of the public per se, but to create it to be a “war” is ridiculous.

Not withstanding the mums who are rude, who let their kids run wild at trash the place, leave their prams wherever they damn well feel like irrespective of inconvenience or safety to others, and not withstanding the cafe/restaurant owners who are extremely rude, who don’t know how to communicate politely or don’t provide adequate areas for prams to be parked, the issue is hardly worth speaking about.

Most of us – mums and restaurant owners – do the right thing.

However, what is wrong with being a little respectful and considerate? What is wrong with looking into a cafe and checking to see whether a pram will actually fit in there, and not block access to exits, or cause tripping hazards for other patrons or the wait staff?

What is wrong with being a bit sensible and reasonable?

What is wrong with being polite to a potential customer? Perhaps providing an area she can park her pram, or even nicely suggesting that perhaps your establishment is not suited to her and her needs and actually being remorseful? Invite her back another time?

What is wrong with consideration for others, concern about their safety and comfort?

As for me, if I see getting my pram in is going to cause headaches, I don’t go in – and it’s all selfish. It’s too hard for me so I don’t bother.

All this does is cause mums to get defensive when they enter cafes and restaurants, worrying what may or may not be said to them, and perceiving everything that is said to be “unwelcoming”, and owners and workers in food establishments to get all thingy and stressed about asking someone to move a pram that is in a dangerous spot.

Let’s not forget having to ask those who don’t care and do let their kids run feral to be kind and considerate.

Everyone gets worked up and misinterprets the intentions of the other. Stupid I tell you.

Oh, and while I’m here, to those non-parents who feel that children don’t belong in cafes and we “mums should go to maccas where you belong” (yes, it has been said), I’m sorry you are a fuckwit, who probably also complains about us “bad mums” causing the obesity epidemic for taking the kids to Maccas in the first place,  for the record, whilst you may think that we lose our sense of taste for good food with 0ur placentas, most of us haven’t. I for one have retained mine, and refuse to enter such establishments. Nor do I take my kids (nothing to do with obesity, environment or other – I personally think it tastes like shit and won’t eat it).

By this ridiculous argument (ie having kids automatically has you only allowed to enter fast food joints) by fact you are a knob head who would make such comment should automatically render you banned from nice cafes and access to lattes. You don’t deserve them.

(Those who have made much more sensible arguments, I hereby grant exclusion from abovementioned certfiable knob head punishment)

And then, if it wasn’t enough that we’re creating a “war” out of nothing , I was asked about the new “novelty teether for babies” in the form of a credit card. Not my kind of thing, cos I’m not the kind of person that gets terribly caught up in latest fads or “oooh, I must by that because it’s cute” etc etc blah blah.

I did say so, too. But what really sent me over the edge, and I had to try really, really hard not to swear on live telly (although am now regretting it mildly) when I was informed social commentator Maggie Hamilton had said the teethers were:

“the ultimate symbol of materialism”.

Children were being forced to grow into “mini-adults” far too fast and clever advertisers were infiltrating their minds from six months of age, she said.

“This is not harmless or humorous. Childhood is an endangered species. It’s very sad.”

What?

It’s a fucking piece of plastic.

Again, notwithstanding idiots who sell toys coated in lead based paints for under 2′s and things with bits that all off for babies, it’s a fucking piece of plastic.

The teether is not the issue. The issue is the issue that is made of such toys that kids (especially those aged approximately 8 months) would have no clue about if everyone just shut up about it.

To be quite honest, if this is the worst Maggie has to worry about, she really needs to get out more often. When I have cyberspace friends who are being threatened with death because they ask another parent to ask their daughter to stop teasing and punching and bullying their own, then I believe there is a right to make such a passionate comment.

Personally, I feel we have much bigger, more serious issues to be concerned with, yet here we are, creating “wars” over being asked to leave a cafe, and fretting about a piece of plastic.

*sigh*

Anyhoo, could rant for hours. And probably swear a lot more. Will aim to flick switch of Snarky  Bitch Mode and set about not being so angry over stupidity.

Some days, it’s just hard.

Argh!

We’re up to something like day 6 of the school holidays.

So far, I think I’ve only really yelled about three times each day, threatened not going to the movies once, thrown a dvd across the room telling them they’re not going to watch it once, and threatened loss of Wii and DS for a week if I hear either of them speak again.

Going well. Pretty much normal, really.

It did, however, get to the point where I felt the only option left to me was The Smack. Tempting. Oh, so tempting. Explaining, discussing, threats, removal of privileges, being sent to their room, missing dinner, losing toys … none of it was sinking in.

It was at that point where I had stupidly agreed to allow them to play on the Wii, they both – surprise, surprise – chose, yes actually agreed on the same game, a within 13 minutes where at each others throats, that I came up with a brilliant idea.

I had gone out, interrupted yet again doing something I’d asked them to give me a few minutes to do (thus the allowing to play Wii), thinking “The only way to get through is to smack them, nothing else has worked” when it came to me! I stopped the game, telling them they could not choose to play this game again.

Nope. That was for me to decide. Little did they know it was my Secret Weapon.

I let them go about their business. The second one of them was annoying again, and nothing else seeemed to work, I suggested they pop on the Wii and play That Game.

If I wasn’t allowed to smack them, they could damn well beat the crap out of each other.

And I can go back to work, knowing the job was done.

I’m not entirely sure when it happened, but here we have it.

I have a “tween”, which according to the defnitions I could half-arsed be checking out are:

n.
A child between middle childhood and adolesence, usually between 8 and 12 years old.
from Answers.com

Another suggests from the age of 9.

So, I’m guessing it happened a little over 6 months ago when Monkey Boy turned 9. Or, if you go with the above definition, a little over eighteen months ago, when he turned 8.

Whatever. Either way, it still snuck up on me. My limited understanding of such creatures was gleaned through brief articles in tabloid newspapers, the odd accidental landing on/signing up to a parenting site and current affairs shows. All of which had me believe that it was mostly afflicted on girls of this age group who were being sexualised before their time, made to grow up to quickly and had a pathological need for name labels. Of course, there are boys affected as well, again coming down to what brand clothing they wear.

Given no one in this house has a clue about brands, unless they relate to chef’s knives, and Monkey Boy in particular being so clueless and uncaring about such matters, I think I gave a quiet sigh of relief that I wouldn’t have to deal with it.

No one told me that children of this age are right little fuckers. That they can be deliberately obstructive and obstinate and obnoxious and all kinds of other ob words that makes you want to go back to your obstetrician and say “PUT IT BACK!”

And, as painful as it sounds, it is far less painful than actually living with a tween.

It seems that, apart from marketing companies who appear to have tapped into the gullible minds and the overactive ability to annoy the crap out of their parents until they give in, tweens are overlooked. When you have kids there’s this info about when they’re babies literally shoved down your throat. This kinda peters off when they reach pre-school age, they’re totally neglected when they become “tweens” and they’re only a problem when they are “teens”.

It’s all a bloody lie. A conspiracy. Probably brought on by large companies who are on the same boat as the marketers.

They are not nice people. Tweens, that is. Although marketers and large companies may also be considered “not nice” at times.

Another definition I found, on About.com:Tweens suggests:

A tween is a child between the ages of 9 and 12. A tween is no longer a little child, but not quite a teenager.

If they’re no longer a child, then they should fucking grow up and stop behaving like one. If they’re not quite a teenager, then they have no excuse for being shit heads.

If nothing else, back off the horribleness and go back to playing with all the goods you’ve swindled out of your parents by being so horrible.

Or, if you’re one of my kids, I’m now onto you!

I was a tween once too – even though they weren’t invented back then; I was a “pre-teen” – and have no hesitation in reverting to such stage so as to show you how horrible they can be.

Better still, I’m more prepared to show you how horrible the mother  of a tween can be. Wanna see?